Jennifer Jean

Structural Integrity

“Yes,” said Queen Lucy.
“In our world too, a Stable once had something inside it that was bigger than our whole world.”
— from C.S. Lewis’ The Last Battle in The Chronicles of Narnia

A universe walks into a bar, sits 
down and says to the barkeep, “Just gimme 
the usual.” Or the Universe walks 
into a bar and says, “How come you are 
over there and I’m over here?” God walks 
into a universe, sits down and says 
to all the humans, “You wanna take this 
outside?” Or God says, “Lend me an ear?” So, 
an ear walks into a starry starry 
night, sits down and says to the artist, “You…
lose something?” Or a mouth gets near an ear, 
sits down and says, “You hoo! Any body 
home?” A home walks into a man, sits down 
and sings, “Love me tender.” Or a home walks 
into a man, says to the feet, “Don’t walk 
away from me!” A marriage walks into 
a bed, sits down and says to the couple, 
“The inside is bigger than the outside.” 
Or, “Love your enemy.” The enemy
makes his bed, lies down, and sighs, “I give up…”

Fishwife with Child

I. Hard Aground 

I wish to drift 
in reverse, to reside 
in your water 
world, in the swim of 
the womb— devouring
my air; yet, my petty crimes 
make you 
whirl— my little love, you 
know me. 

II. Ready About 

My blooming
Sea-Nettle bell 
belly shunts your father
as he thrusts his love…

and my being the cradle 
is almost like being 
you— spellbound 
and swayed by 
almighty notions. 

III. Head to Wind 

Oh, trout-school upstream!
midwife coaxes 
and you close all space 
against water—fold 
into one—hasten—thicken—
alight from the whale road 
safety into the miracle 
vessel of our family. 
Into my lukewarm hands.

Fishwife Advent

A storm stalks the shore, 
the children are tucked,
the fire low under haddock stew. 
I push past our battened door,
into the steel gale, out to pitched docks. 
Gills break the skin along my hairline,
scales lash and seal my legs. 
I plunge off the wharf, through monstrous surf,
wield silver hips against the current. 
I sing your name till the weight of it rebounds.
And there, your blunt-nose vessel tilts. 
Lobster cages vault off the deck,
graze my fins, shatter against a swell. 
You grip the helm and hesitate
—there is no sound, there is no land— 

the rain has netted the sky into the sea.
You are nearly wrecked, my love. 
And, I could trumpet this fact—
instead, I leap 
across the path of the forward searchlight.
Hear you roar, Hard alee! Hard alee!
as the boat bears leeward into the lightning,
as the nun buoy chimes and bobs 
and my bowed body strains to keep you 
from sea or siren frenzy.